


Patrick Gets His

by TheFourtiethHorseman



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Don't Like Don't Read, Gen, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Sexual, Rape/Non-con Elements, Spanking, guys being dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-10 02:04:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15281193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFourtiethHorseman/pseuds/TheFourtiethHorseman
Summary: Based off of my other Fall Out Boy/21p fic where Pete spanks Tyler.Back in the day, Patrick is curious about what it all feels like.  Joe offers to lend a hand.





	Patrick Gets His

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hopefully_not_a_shitty_ballerina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopefully_not_a_shitty_ballerina/gifts).



Years on the road and in bands and sitting up late on each other’s basement couches should have taught Patrick by now that nothing good happened when he was drunk and sleep deprived.  Nothing good especially happened when Patrick was drunk and sleep deprived and hanging out in Joe’s hotel room at five a.m. Andy was already dead asleep on the floor, curled up like a caterpillar in the duvet cover (duvet itself stripped away and… missing in action apparently).  Underneath that he was wearing nothing but some basketball shorts and a Ninja Turtle stocking cap. He looked cozy as hell. 

 

Patrick envied him.  He envied Pete too, who had the liberty of stowing himself away and passing out with exhaustion immediately following his and Patrick’s… episodes.

 

No, that was the wrong word.  Games? Sessions? Fights? Patrick didn’t know what they were doing anymore. Patrick had given up control over his life years ago wherever Pete Wentz was concerned. 

 

“I wonder what it’s like,” Patrick said.  He was sprawled flat on his back on one of the full beds in their hotel room.  Joe was seated at the foot of it, lounging back on a mountain of pillows and balled up blankets he’d thrown together.  The other bed was bare and empty, with Andy sleeping on the floor right beside it.

 

Joe plucked idly at a string on the acoustic he was fussing around with- Patrick’s fancy twelve string acoustic, his favorite guitar in the world.  It was safe in Joe’s hands. They couldn’t spend so many years living in each other’s pockets and not know that. 

 

Sometimes Patrick thought he was pretty wise for twenty-three years old.

 

And sometimes not.  Sometimes he got a little too pickled and let his tongue run away with him.  Joe asked, “Whatcha talkin’ ‘bout, Pat?” his words all shortened with five a.m. laziness.  They had to be up and on the bus in two and a half hours. They really ought to be asleep. 

 

Patrick kicked out and hit Joe in the knee with the ball of his foot.  He hated being called Pat. 

 

“Do you think he’s okay?” Patrick asked.  Joe plucked a high E. Patrick felt the bed shift, and he looked up to see Joe glancing down at Andy on the floor. 

 

“Still breathing,” he reported. 

 

“I meant Pete.”

 

“Oh.” 

 

Patrick felt the weight of the world in that ‘oh,’ and he closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. The bed shifted again.  There was the soft ‘clunk’ of a guitar being set against worn down hotel carpeting. There was a brief silence, and then Joe spoke, “He asked for it.” 

 

The line made a chuckle bubble out of Patrick’s throat. 

 

“I mean, literally,” Joe said, “I heard him ask you for it.”  A long silence followed that, just the quiet buzz of the air conditioner fighting the July heat.  Patrick dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

 

“Are you okay with all of this?” Joe asked.  Patrick should have known better than to have discussions at five a.m.

 

“I mean, I’m agreeing to it,” Patrick said, feeling like the world’s biggest tool because if anyone should have a problem with the arrangement, it should be Pete.  The silence that followed suggested that Joe wouldn’t be answering. Patrick let out another sigh. 

 

“What if I’m hurting him?” he asked. 

 

“That’s kind of the point.” 

 

“No, I mean  _ really _ hurting him.” 

 

This time when the bed shifted, Patrick felt a kick against his own hip.  He looked over to see Joe sprawled out on his back next to him, looking up at him through thick dark curls hanging over his eyes. 

 

“Pat,” he said.  Patrick scowled. “Kid, come on.  It’s just spanking. I mean, my dad gave me worse in high school.” 

 

Patrick’s eyes snapped up to find Joe’s, and Joe just stared at him straight on, challenging him to say something.  Joe had a wonderful relationship with his parents, so Patrick decided to let it rest. If Joe ever needed to talk about it, he’d do so.  Instead he asked, “What’s it like?” Joe wrinkled his nose up. 

 

“You’re telling me that you never got your ass beat?” Joe asked incredulously. Patrick felt his face heat up. 

 

He never had.  His mom had swatted him once or twice, just like everyone else’s, but a single smack on the seat of his pants for talking back didn’t quite count as a whoopin’.  It didn’t nearly compare to what he and Pete were doing.

 

Patrick realized he couldn’t even imagine what it felt like for Pete, what Pete asked him to do to him.  He didn’t think things through where Pete Wentz was concerned. Was far too prone to diving in head first and sorting out the mishaps afterwards. 

 

Maybe he ought to get a handle on things this time around. 

 

Alcohol making him brave and exhaustion making him stupid, Patrick glanced over at Joe again and let the words fall out of him mouth. “Hit me.” 

 

Immediately Joe reached out and pushed Patrick’s face aside with the flat of his knuckles, smile teasing.  Patrick scoffed. 

 

“No, God damn it.  I’m serious. Like you were just saying.  You were willing to do it for Pete that one time, right?  Do it for me now.” 

 

Joe’s response was a slowly raised eyebrow.  He said, “I wish your mother  _ had _ hit you more.  Might have taught you some manners.”  Patrick scowled, and Joe grinned. He sat up and stretched his back, groaning like an old man. 

 

“Teach me now then,” Patrick said.  Joe stared at him, dead pan. 

 

“You can’t be serious.” 

 

“I am.” 

 

“It’s going to hurt.” 

 

“Yeah, no shit.” 

 

Joe was silent for a while, thinking.  He sat up and stared down at the sheets underneath him, and after a few long moments he looked back up and caught Patrick’s eye.  The expression on his face was one of a man staring down the barrel of a gun. Patrick averted his eyes. Joe coughed and scooted to the edge of the bed. 

 

“Alright then,” he said.  “Let’s get it over with, then.” 

 

Patrick immediately swallowed his tongue.  He sat up, slouched on his elbows, and regarded Joe with his calmest expression. 

 

“Wuh… what?  Right now?” 

 

Joe responded with a single nod. 

 

Patrick stared at him, slack jawed.  The entire weight of the situation sunk into him like oil into a sponge, and he suddenly felt as if he was dreaming up all of this.  

 

Joe seemed to realize that Patrick wouldn’t be saying anything intelligent if he was left to his own devices, so he shrugged a shoulder at him and said, “Take your belt off,” like it was the most ordinary request in the world. 

 

‘Why’ Patrick wondered, and immediately realized why.  His face flushed, hand going to his belt buckle by its own volition.  His face flushed, and a quiet snore across the room caught his attention.  Andy settled back into his cocoon with a quiet snuffle. Patrick glanced helplessly at Joe.

 

“What if he wakes up?” Patrick asked, and then puzzled over Joe’s reaction as he snagged a pillow off the bed and chucked it in Andy’s general direction.  It smacked him right on the side of the head, and Andy slept on solidly as if it hadn’t happened at a.. Patrick flinched, then turned and shot Joe with a glare. 

 

“He stayed up for fifty hours and took two doses of Nyquill.  He’s practically in a coma.” 

Joe had a point, he supposed.  This wasn’t the first time Andy had exhausted himself to the edge of illness, and it wouldn’t be the last.  They’d have to carry his vegetable ass to the bus in the morning, and he probably wouldn’t wake up properly until after soundcheck. 

 

There was no way he’d wake up, no matter how much noise they made.  Patrick was running out of excuses. 

 

“We don’t have to do this,” Joe said.  “But if we’re going to, let’s do it now.  I don’t want this hanging over our heads forever.” 

 

Another solid point.  He wasn’t going to get this opportunity again if he pussied out now.  Pete had asked for this with far less grace and preamble. Fuck, he’d gotten it from a  _ stranger _ . Get it together, Patrick scolded himself.  Take it like a man. 

 

“Fine,” Patrick snapped, tugging his belt free with a zip and holding it out like he was holding something gross.  Joe took it from him, considered it with a frown, and doubled it over. Patrick couldn’t believe he was about to get beat with his own belt. 

 

Then Joe looked up at him and patted his lap, and Patrick’s brain stopped working altogether. 

 

“What?” he asked, voice lost in his breath.  “That’s not how Pete and I do it.” 

 

“I’m doing it like my dad did.  You and Pete don’t know what you’re doing.” 

 

Very true.  Still, Patrick couldn’t believe the situation as he was walking into even as he stepped closer, making his way to Joe’s side.  Joe looked up at him, giant eyes through a curtain of dark hair. Patrick looked over at the layer of dust on the TV stand and leaned over Joe’s lap as gracefully as he could. 

 

Joe put a hand on the small of his back and pushed.  Patrick stumbled. He caught himself with one palm flat on the floor, one hand wrapped around Joe’s knee.  Joe had fisted his hand in the back of Patrick’s t-shirt to catch him. He cleared his throat and let go, patting the fabric back into place awkwardly.  Patrick felt him shift underneath him. 

 

“So you’re just gonna-” Patrick jumped as a swat landed on the seat of his pants.  He pressed his lips together tight, felt Joe shift again.

 

“Yep.” 

 

“That wasn’t-” another swat fell, hesitant and painless, but Patrick couldn’t stop himself from jumping out of his skin.  His whole body was alight with nerves, stomach fluttering like it was full of moths. He licked his lips, tried again. “That wasn’t the belt.” 

 

“We’ll get there,” Joe said, voice ominous with warning.  “Now shush, would you?” 

 

“But-” Another swat. 

 

“Quiet.” 

 

But it didn’t hurt.  Patrick could feel the ghost of what ought to have been pain, a reminder that Joe’s hand had been there mere moments before. It was supposed to hurt.  Patrick may be new to this, but he knew that what he and Pete did didn’t exactly tickle. It wasn’t fair if it wasn’t the same level, if Patrick had already taken a dozen swats and the most he felt was  _ warm _ , which didn’t even matter since all of his was burning up anyways-

 

“Take your jeans down.” 

 

Patrick’s blood turned to ice. He whipped his head around to look back over his shoulder at Joe; he saw that his request was quite serious. 

 

“Well you didn’t think you’d get to keep them up, did you?  Come on. Pants off.” 

 

Hand-eye-coordination diminished entirely in nerves, Patrick fumbled haphazardly to his feet and struggled with the button of his jeans for far too long for someone who wasn’t in elementary school.  He got them down, though, and he went easily when Joe tugged on his arm and pulled him back over his lap, not knowing what else to do. 

 

It suddenly struck him how weird it was to be this close to his friend without wearing pants.  It wasn’t the first time. Hell, he and Pete had showered together that one time when they’d run out of time and could absolutely not go another hour without bathing.  He’d slept in his underwear and shared beds with his bandmates more times than he could count. But he’d never been in his boxers and  _ sitting _ on his friend’s lap.  This was definitely a boundary they were crossing, but he didn’t know how to mention it.  If he ought to mention it. 

 

He didn’t have much time to think about it, though, because when the next strike fell it actually hurt.  Patrick gasped, surprised, and pulled away from Joe without thinking about it. Joe just tightened his hand in his shirt again, tugged him back, and laid down another swat. 

 

This felt more like it was supposed to.  It stung, and with every spank that fell Patrick found himself biting down on his lip and holding his breath.  Pete made it through far worse than this, so Patrick resolved himself to not make a noise. He was strong. He didn’t need this.  It was a game, basically, and Patrick wasn’t going to lose. 

 

“How you holding up?” Joe asked, resting his hand on the crest of Patrick’s ass where it had fallen last.  His skin throbbed under Joe’s hand, burning all over, and Patrick found himself hoping the whole thing was coming to an end.

 

He swallowed hard and answered, “Fine.” 

 

Joe patted him, once.  “Good. The warm up is over, then.” 

 

“The what?”

 

“Brace yourself.” 

 

Patrick pushed himself up, trying to look over his shoulder at Joe and ask what on Earth he was talking about.  That’s when he saw Joe raise the belt, and a second later a stripe of fire lit up over his skin with a  _ crack _ ! and Patrick fell back down over Joe’s knees and nearly knocked the wind out of himself. 

 

The next strike didn’t fall for a while.  It took long enough that Patrick caught his breath, that the pain faded away to a dull sting, and Patrick was starting to wonder when the next one would hit.  Just when he thought about opening his mouth to ask, the belt hit him again, and Patrick nearly swallowed his fucking tongue. 

 

The third spank fell more quickly, and Patrick wasn’t expecting it.  It startled a noise out of him, something unrecognizable from deep in his throat, the kind of noise he didn’t know he could make. 

 

Joe, the bastard, laughed at him.  Patrick glared over his shoulder and dug his elbow back into Joe’s ribs.  Joe responded by just bringing the belt down again, and yeah. He officially won that argument. 

 

As the belt fell again and again, Patrick had no real choice but to bite down on his lip and keep his head down.  It hurt. It hurt worse than Patrick could have imagined it hurting, and he was convinced he had to be bleeding by that point. Every strike hit already tender skin, and what had been just splotches of burning at the beginning was now an all encompassing inferno.  Patrick was sweating through his t-shirt, every breath coming out hitched or gasping. Joe was breathing hard above him, hand hot where it was pressed against Patrick’s back, and Patrick didn’t realize how much he was wriggling until he felt Joe’s fingers digging in.  

 

He got control of himself, forced himself to hold still, and shivered with the next hit. 

 

“You’re taking this well,” Joe said, and Patrick couldn’t put three words together to save his life.  He pressed his face into the bed and groaned.

 

“Shut up,” he grumbled.  Joe smacked him again. 

 

“Watch it.” 

 

Patrick squirmed, Joe pressed down on his back again.  Patrick asked, “How much longer?” Joe chuckled again. 

 

“Till I decide you’ve had enough.  I finally get the chance at revenge for some of the bull shit you’ve put me through.” 

 

“Bullshit?” Patrick asked.  “What bull- _ shit!   _ Joe, God  _ damn it! _ ” 

 

Joe laughed, brought the belt down again.  “Something wrong?” Patrick clenched his jaw and hissed in a breath through his teeth.  Another spank, and he let out a shout. He was being so loud, it was a wonder Andy hadn’t woken up.  Between the thunderous crack of the belt, the noises he couldn’t seem to hold back no matter how hard he tried to smother himself, and the thin state of the hotel walls, it was a wonder they didn’t have people banging down their doors with a noise complaint. 

 

How the hell did Pete go through with this?  How the hell did he  _ ask _ for this? “It hurts!”  What was wrong with Patrick for giving it to him? 

 

“It’s supposed to.” 

 

And Joe?  Joe, that asshole, was laughing.  He was some kind of sadist, apparently, or Patrick was more of an asshole than he’d realized.  Maybe he really deserved this. Fuck. 

 

“Fuck!” 

 

“Watch your language.” 

 

Great, Joe was somebody’s father now.  “Shut the fuck up.” The smack that one earned him had a new vigor behind it.  Patrick screwed his eyes shut, another spank fell and he actually whimpered. 

 

He squirmed, tried to gain himself a second of reprieve, and failed.  Another strike, and Patrick wasn’t even thinking anymore. His words came out without his forethought.  “Wait, stop,” he said. Joe didn’t stop. Patrick squirmed. “Joe, seriously, hold on a second.” 

 

Joe didn’t answer, and he didn’t stop.  If anything he sped up, hit harder. The pain grew from terrible to unbearable, and he threw a hand back without thinking about it.  

 

“Joe! Fucking- Jesus, would you stop?” 

 

“Don’t be an idiot,” Joe snapped, voice suddenly matching the situation for the first time since they’d started this mess.  He grabbed Patrick’s wrist, fingers strong and bruising, and pinned his hand to the small of Patrick’s back. Patrick squirmed, tried to tug it free.  He didn’t quite manage it. Joe hit him again, and Patrick felt his chest fill with panic. This wasn’t stopping until Joe wanted it to. Patrick was stuck, upside down and pinned with his fucking pants around his knees and absolutely no leverage to get himself upright again.  His ass was aching, his eyes were burning, and he was totally fucking powerless. Joe scolded him again, saying, “Fuck your hand up, and we can’t do the piano shit tomorrow. Knock it off.” 

 

Patrick snapped.  “You knock it off!” Patrick yelled back.  “Joe, stop, please!” 

 

His voice cracked on the please, and Patrick felt absolutely hallowed out.  It got a response at least. For the first time since he’d picked up the belt, Joe paused.  Patrick’s breath left him in a relieved huff. He hung his head between his shoulders. 

 

“Catch your breath,” Joe said, as if Patrick needed reminding.  He counted them, in for four seconds, out for four. Three deep breaths and Joe said, “If you want to finish this properly, hang in there.” 

 

Patrick swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to breathe around the ball of dread forming in his chest.  “How much longer?” 

 

“Almost done.  Trust me, it’s better to see it through.” 

 

Patrick wasn’t sure how getting hit  _ more _ would make him feel better, not when he’d already been flayed and served raw like a fucking plate of sashimi. Still, sometimes Joe knew what he was talking about.  Sometimes. Maybe today.

 

He took a deep breath, ashamed of how it sounded more like a sniffle than anything.  His eyes stung. He closed them until it went away. 

 

“Okay,” he said.  “Okay, fine. Get on with it, then.” 

 

His head started to clear again, animalistic instincts being replaced by the human thought he was accustomed to.  He sighed heavily, shifted to try and get comfortable, and just when he was starting to feel human, Joe brought the belt down again. 

 

Patrick immediately fell apart.  He didn’t know how it possibly hurt  _ more _ after a few minutes of reprieve, but now that it’d started again Patrick couldn’t make himself hold still.  He squirmed, kicked out, tried to fight his way off of Joe’s lap with enough fire that Joe wrapped his arm around his waist to hold him still. 

 

Joe sped up.  Patrick couldn’t keep his mouth shut.  “Ow ow ow  _ ow! Joe! _  It  _ hurts _ !” 

 

“It’s supposed to.” 

 

“Fuck you, Joe.” 

 

“Shut up before you wake Andy.” 

 

Patrick bit down on his lip, couldn’t keep quiet. He screwed his eyes shut, tried to choke noises down.  The next noise that escaped his mouth was a choked off sob. His eyes watered. He blinked, and tears rolled down his cheeks. 

 

Well fuck.  Another gasp escaped, and Patrick was so ashamed he couldn’t hold it together any longer.  He wrangled on arm around, gripped his hair in his hand just to have something to hold on to, and smothered himself in the bed spread. 

 

Joe stopped, but Patrick wasn’t pushing his luck.  He just braced himself for more, do everything in his power to keep his breath from stuttering in his chest.  He didn’t realize he was trembling until Joe put his hand on Patrick’s shoulder and squeezed. 

 

“Hey…” he said quietly.  “Hey, Trick. Get up, would ya?”  

 

He tried to push himself up and almost fell, so Joe put his hands on his arms and helped steady him up.  Patrick tugged away as soon as he was upright, took a step and stumbled over the pants that had fallen around his ankles.  He hit the ground hard, landing flat on his ass, and another God awful whimper fell out of his mouth. Joe stared at him, with wide eyes and an open mouth.  Patrick stared back, probably looking like a right mess with his face all blotchy and his eyes watering and his hair sticking up from being rubbed against the mattress.

 

The rustle of fabric from across the room caught their attention, and they both looked over to see Andy’s head pop up, barely visible in blankets.  His voice was rough as he grumbled, “Whah- the fuck ah you guys doin’?” 

 

That was the breaking point.  Patrick fell back on the floor and laughed, full belly laughs with tears rolling down his face and nausea churning in his stomach, pants off and thoroughly spanked in a hotel room with two of his best friends.  He’d asked for it, he’d fucking asked for it and he was ridiculous, and somehow he… he actually felt better. 

 

He was crying, and he felt better, and he was officially losing his mind. 

 

Maybe Pete made a little more sense after all. 

 

Patrick’s laughter sent Joe over the edge too, apparently, and he ended up laughing hard enough to knock himself off the bed.  That sent Patrick into another fit of giggles, and Joe rolled until he was stomach down next to Patrick, face buried in Patrick’s shoulder and hair hiding his face against the carpet. 

 

“Crazy assholes….” Andy muttered, rolling over and hiding half under his bed.  Patrick reached up and wiped his face with the palms of his hands. He sniffed, once, got himself back under control.  He wouldn’t sit right for  _ days _ . 

 

“Remind me to never piss off your dad,” he said, and Joe laughed so hard he was howling, and Patrick decided maybe it was time they all went to bed.


End file.
